The Stars Move Still
by Gilbert H. Karr
Summary: This is the story of an Intrepid explorer who runs away on a secret mission, at the request of some of the Federation's finest minds, and the Doctor who must stay behind and pick up the pieces. Rated K plus for language. I don't write slash. Pls R and R.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: __ The original content contained in the following belongs to me, but I don't own the characters or the world. This is a short story based on the idea that McCoy, as a doctor, feels a particular responsibility to everyone aboard the Enterprise, but especially to those he considers friends. Not sure where this is going, so any suggestions would be appreciated. Please read and review. I don't write slash._

The Stars Move Still

"The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike,  
>The devil will come, and Faustus must be damned."<p>

–Christopher Marlowe

Captain Kirk stood quietly with his hands in his pockets, gazing out of the starboard viewports in the forward observation lounge. The restless energy that was so much a part of Kirk's makeup made it impossible to be still, and he began to pace restlessly back and forth, down the length of the viewports. The quality of his pacing took on a military precision, one that seeped into the very fabric of the Enterprise. The engines even seemed to take on a higher pitched whine in response to the Captain's mood.

All over the Starship Enterprise, normally efficient departments shuffled into a higher degree of efficiency. Loose ends were tied up, the normal cleaning and maintenance schedule was forgotten as everything aboard ship was cleaned and polished, and then re-cleaned. Crew members on post stood a bit straighter than normal, and were even more attendant to their duties than usual. Even those members of the crew who were off duty made a point of calling in for assignments, or status reports, or simply resorted to cleaning living spaces that had already been cleaned over again. Collectively, the crew of the Starship Enterprise held its breath. Kirk was worried, and that fact was enough to worry the crew as well.

Kirk realized that his worry wasn't good for the crew, and he tried to stop it, but it was beyond his power to do so. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop until McCoy called and gave him a report on Chekov's condition. It was Kirk who had sent him down there, against his better judgment, Kirk who had asked him to bring up the rear, and it was Kirk who should have taken the brunt of the blast from the Klingon's energy weapon, but that wasn't what happened. It was Kirk they wanted, but they didn't care who they hurt, if Kirk wasn't available. The Enterprise had sent them running with a barrage of its own weapons, and Kirk, with the help of security and Dr. McCoy, had cleaned up the mess, and then beamed back aboard the ship. Now, Chekov's life hung in the balance, and Kirk was mentally kicking himself, and going over each of his actions with a fine toothed comb, trying to determine where he went wrong.

The doors of the observation deck slid open with a whoosh, and Kirk felt, rather than saw, a presence move up behind him in the darkness. "Captain, may I infer from your actions that you are concerned about Mr. Chekov?"

"Mr. Spock, how can you ask that of me? That should have been me in there, but it isn't."

"Captain, you must not blame yourself. You had no way of knowing that Keth would take exception to the fact that Mr. Chekov holds the position of Security Chief aboard this ship, and wanted to keep his men safe. The Klingon's actions were illogical."

"Of course his actions were illogical. He's a Klingon. _I _should have known that, and I should have anticipated this. The Klingon Commander will answer for his man's actions." He glanced sidelong at Spock. "Have you been down to sickbay?"

"No, Jim. Doctor McCoy said that he would inform you of any change. Logic dictates we allow the good doctor to do his work, and wait to hear from him when he is finished. You should rest, Captain. You'll do no one any good in this state, and I need not remind you what it says to the crew."

"I know, Spock." The first officer tilted his head ever so slightly, perhaps hearing the unspoken 'but' at the end of his Captain's words. Arching an eyebrow in the Vulcan approximation of a shrug, he asked, "Was there something else you planned to say, Captain?"

Some of Kirk's good humour was restored at that, and he said, "Nothing, Mr. Spock. I thought perhaps there was something you wanted to say to me."

"Indeed? What would that be?"

"Come now, Mr. Spock. We've known one another longer than that. I would expect you to tell me that worry is illogical."

"That it is, sir. However, I have had cause to be grateful for your bouts of illogical behavior in the past."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock."

"Jim, may I be permitted to say I think you should visit sickbay? You will not achieve any adequate measure of rest until you go, and Dr. McCoy gained more than one patient tonight, as I am sure you recall."

"I'm fine, Spock."

"With respect, sir, this is not a manifestation of 'fine' I have seen you exhibit before. 'Fine' for you usually means concealing a physical injury from the crew while imbibing in various forms of ethanol, and generally in the company of the good doctor. Are you intending to disappoint Dr. McCoy, Captain?"

"I am not injured, Spock. He won't be expecting me to come."

"Your injury and his expectations are both open to debate, sir. My responsibility, however, is not, and neither is my report. I do not yet know what it will say; I only know what I prefer it to say."

"On my way, Mr. Spock."

"That is a wise decision, Captain."

The sickbay doors whooshed aside barely fast enough to prevent Jim Kirk from running into them. He strode into McCoy's inner sanctum looking grim.

"Report, Doctor," he said, tersely. McCoy froze, his back to Kirk.

"There's no real change," McCoy said, carefully. "How are you?"

"Don't worry about me. I want to know your medical opinion of Chekov." Kirk's smile was tight, his eyes were narrowed, and his voice was hard.

"That well, huh? Here's my prescription. You look like you could use it." McCoy handed Kirk a glass, now watching him closely as he did so. Instead of drinking from the glass, Kirk slammed it down on the counter. "I don't need your two bit psychiatry, Doctor, or your prescription. I need to know what your prognosis is for Chekov."

"Chekov is holding his own, for the moment, Captain. That's all I can tell you."

"Are you a doctor or aren't you?"

"I'm a doctor, not a damned fortune teller. As for the prescription, that's medical orders, Captain."

"If Chekov dies, I am holding you personally responsible, Doctor." Unable to trust himself to say more, he stormed out of his CMO's office, and down the hall to his own quarters, where he sat, glaring at nothing in general.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: __ The original content contained in the following belongs to me, but I don't own the characters or the world. This is a short story based on the idea that McCoy, as a doctor, feels a particular responsibility to everyone aboard the Enterprise, but especially to those he considers friends. Not sure where this is going, so any suggestions would be appreciated. Please read and review. I don't write slash._

_**Time Runs**_

McCoy watched him leave, raising an eyebrow in unconscious imitation of a certain first officer, and then went back to his office. His two bit psychiatry told him that there was more going on here than simply being accused by the Captain of being incompetent. So, he probably wouldn't take it personally. The mission had started out stressful, and that aspect of it had increased exponentially to this point, culminating in Chekov's injury, and the Captain's, though he would admit to no such thing. Jim had a tendency to acknowledge injuries only when they left some sort of physical mark, but McCoy knew that the worst injuries sometimes left emotional and mental scars, rather than physical ones. Those were also the hardest to heal. Jim blamed himself, and he needed time to process the fact that this was not his fault. Still, McCoy couldn't deny that he shouldn't be on the bridge in the state he was in when he came to sickbay. Sighing heavily, he toggled a switch on his desktop communications unit.

Uhura's face appeared on-screen, and he gave her a small smile. "Well, Lieutenant, you are working late tonight."

"Tonight's my night to work the night shift, Doc. What can I do for you?"

"Patch me through to Spock, please."

"Yes, sir. How is Chekov?"

"He's holding his own. He's still out, but you can sit with him for awhile, if you like."

"Well, maybe later. Hold for Mr. Spock, please."

A moment later, a deep, crisp voice came onto the channel. "Doctor, what can I do for you?"

"Spock, could you please meet me in sickbay to discuss our patients' status. It is rather important, and I don't want to discuss it on here."

"I am on my way, Doctor McCoy."

While he waited for Spock, McCoy checked on Chekov again. He seemed to be resting easy after the surgery, at least for the moment, but McCoy was not at all sure that wouldn't change. Rubbing his eyes, he returned to his office to find Spock waiting for him.

"Mr. Chekov-"

"-is holding his own, Spock. It's Jim I am worried about now."

"Ah, yes. He did seem rather restless when I saw him."

"Restless, Mr. Spock? Restless is an understatement. The Captain was downright _twitchy_ when he was in here."

"Twitchy, Doctor?"

"You heard me, Spock. That's exactly what he was, too. He practically threw the Saurian Brandy I poured for him back at me."

"So what do you propose, Doctor?"

"I fear I am going to have to relieve him, Spock, but I want to try to talk to him again first. I need a witness. I won't do this lightly, but until this business with Chekov blows over, or he turns back into the Jim Kirk we all know and love, he shouldn't be on the bridge."

"I agree, Doctor. I will accompany you to talk to him."

Kirk was still glaring at nothing when McCoy and Spock walked into his quarters. McCoy stood a bit behind Spock, and surreptitiously pointed his tricorder toward the Captain, in an effort to judge his physical state. His glare found them, and his voice had a razor sharp edge to it, when he said, "Gentlemen."

"Captain."

"I am not really up for social calls tonight, gentlemen."

"This is not a social call, Captain. This is a professional visit to determine your fitness to continue in command of this ship."

"Are you insinuating-?"

"—I am not insinuating anything, Captain. I am simply requesting an explanation for your behavior in sickbay a few minutes ago. One that will satisfy my medical log entry."

"Mr. Chekov is a member of my crew. Isn't it reasonable for me to be concerned about him?"

"Concerned, yes. We are all concerned. You've seen crewmen in limbo before, and you've even seen some of them die. You have not ever before, however, chewed up the furniture in sickbay in response to such a situation. Why is this one different?"

"I don't know."  
>"You are the only one who does know."<p>

"GET OUT OF MY QUARTERS!," Kirk bellowed, knowing he wasn't helping his case by sounding irrational, but unable to help himself.

"Captain, you are hereby relieved of duty and confined to quarters, pending a full physical and psychiatric evaluation." Kirk bounded off his bed like lightning, and lobbed a very heavy, quite unbreakable relic, which he had picked up on some world or other that the Enterprise had visited, at his Chief Surgeon. At the moment, he wasn't registering where it came from, or even what it was. McCoy ducked out the door, with Spock right behind him. Spock went to the comm. link in the corridor, and called security. He posted two guards outside the Captain's door, and followed Dr. McCoy back into his private office in sickbay. McCoy sat down behind his desk, and rubbed his eyes, motioning Spock to sit also. As the first officer sat down, McCoy said, "Well, Spock, what do you make of our Captain now?"

"That, Doctor, was most decidedly not our Captain. I surmise that something happened down on that planet."

"I suppose it is possible, but he was fine when we first got back."

"Then there are three possibilities. One, whatever happened has gotten worse since the Captain returned to the ship. Two, Chekov brought something with him, and it has now spread to the Captain. Three, the stress that the Captain has been under since this mission started has been exacerbated by his worry over Mr. Chekov's condition, and the symptoms of that stress were exacerbated as well."

"Any recommendations?"

"Yes, Doctor. I have an idea."


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: __ The original content contained in the following belongs to me, but I don't own the characters or the world. This is a short story based on the idea that McCoy, as a doctor, feels a particular responsibility to everyone aboard the Enterprise, but especially to those he considers friends. Not sure where this is going, so any suggestions would be appreciated. Please read and review. I don't write slash._

_**The Clock Will Strike**_

James Kirk was standing at the wheel of a rather large antique sailing ship, of the kind only seen in museums in his time. Museums and private collections. His was part of his own private collection, and he took it out whenever he had the chance. It kept his skills sharp. He always enjoyed times like this, where it was just him and the water, and he could test his mettle against the vast ocean. He raised his glass and looked out over the ocean waves until he found the land he was looking for. Good, he was right on course. Satisfied, he walked around the deck checking the riggings and the masts, and then he moved off below decks to ensure that the trip remained as smooth as possible. Finally, just as the sun was disappearing over the horizon, turning the sky red and orange and purple, he dropped anchor and went into the galley, where he poured himself a drink and settled in to watch the oncoming darkness sweep over the ocean.

(0o0)

"Do you think it will work, Spock? In his present condition, he might not even allow you near him."

"Indeed, Doctor. He might not. If I can find the part of him that makes him James Kirk, and approach in a manner that is not frightening to him, I might be able to convince him to follow me back. There is a more immediate problem, however. I do not expect that whatever is in control of the Captain will want him found or approached. I must try to surprise it."

"If you can find the part of him that makes him James Kirk, he will know you, and he trusts you more than perhaps anyone else on the planet. If you can find him, you can bring him back. I am convinced of that. How you plan to accomplish that, is what I want to know. If I recall, Vulcans are touch telepaths, which means you would have to touch the Captain to access his thoughts, wouldn't you?"

"You are essentially correct, Doctor, that Vulcans are touch telepaths. Healers recognize the possibility that links created between meld recipients and those performing the meld will be retained in some small part, though it is not exactly common. Nonetheless, a small link remains between the Captain and myself. If you can ensure us some privacy, I will attempt to touch his thoughts and bring him back to himself."

"I will be working at the desk outside if you need me."

"No, Doctor. You must stay here. If there is something inhabiting the Captain's mind, I cannot take the chance on releasing it into the ship's population. You will need to knock me out, restrain me, and then call security. If there is nothing inhabiting the Captain, then the chances are good that he will need medical attention either before or after he comes back to himself. Either way, your place is here."

"Thank you, Spock."

Spock sat ramrod straight in the chair in front of McCoy's desk, and closed his eyes. The doctor watched with fascination as he reached out in front of him with both hands, as if literally reaching for the Captain's thoughts. He sat that way for an eternity, as still as a statue. Sighing, McCoy got up and ordered himself some coffee from the replicators and then sat back down behind his desk, and tried to get some work done, but he couldn't help watching Spock periodically, although there wasn't much to see.

(0O0)

Spock felt deep within himself and found the link he still shared with the Captain, a link he would not normally even acknowledge, except in the deepest, most hidden reaches of his soul. He felt a warmth there, and a familiarity that led him to believe that the Captain was not too far out of reach. He followed the link as far as he was able, until he felt a small measure of resistance. He stopped immediately, unwilling to enter where he was not invited. Not wanting to give away his position to anyone besides the Captain, he sent out his own identity vibes along the link, and after a moment, the resistance eased, and he started moving forward again, carefully, feeling his way for any hint of where he might find his Captain. Moments later, he came upon a rope ladder, and he started to climb. As he did so, ocean waves swirled around his ankles. Setting aside his discomfort with water as having no consequence for the moment, he kept climbing upwards until he came to the end of the ladder, on the deck of a large sailing ship. The ship seemed deserted, and Spock looked around him, a bit confused as to where he was and why. He pulled himself over the side, and as he did so, he saw a figure in front of him, soaked to the skin with sea spray and endeavoring to shift the mast rigging to catch the change in wind direction. He hurried forward to the other side of the rigging and helped the figure to capture the change successfully, and then tie off the ropes again. The man looked up just then, and nodded, and a pair of incredibly intense hazel eyes speared him.

"Spock."

"Jim. I must confess a slight confusion as to why you are here, sir."

Kirk smiled at that. "Were you thinking I ran away?"

"No, Captain. That would not be characteristic of your personality. I must confess I rather thought you had been replaced by something."

"In a manner of speaking, I have been. I can't tell you more at the moment, but I am asking you to accept that I am here on Federation orders, and that the ship is protected by, among other things, the Organian Peace Treaty."

"As you wish, sir."

"How is Chekov?"

"He is, in the Doctor's words, 'holding his own'. Dr. McCoy requested more details on what happened to Mr. Chekov, to aid in his treatment."

"Part of it is classified, but I can tell you that he was hit at point blank range, by a high powered, phased weapon. We were ambushed by the Klingons, and I have a sneaking suspicion that the planetary officials had something to do with it. I am working on proving that, among other things. The research suggests that the weapon will disrupt any or all of his respiratory, circulatory, and central nervous systems. That should give the doctor something to work with."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Go, Spock. Protect my ship."

"Goodbye, Jim."


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: __ The original content contained in the following belongs to me, but I don't own the characters or the world. This is a short story based on the idea that McCoy, as a doctor, feels a particular responsibility to everyone aboard the Enterprise, but especially to those he considers friends. Not sure where this is going, so any suggestions would be appreciated. Please read and review. I don't write slash._

**The Devil Will Come**

McCoy caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, and looked up as Spock came back to himself. He handed the First Officer some replicated Vulcan tea, and instructed him to drink it. To his surprise, Spock didn't argue, but downed the cup in one swallow.

"You were in that meld longer than you should have been, Spock. Are you well?"

"I am fine, Doctor, though technically speaking I wasn't in a meld at all. I was following the link I retained with the Captain."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Did you find out anything?"

"I discovered quite a bit of new information, most of which is classified. Suffice it to say, Doctor, that the Captain is safe, for the moment, and that he needs what help we can give him. He gave me some more information about the weapon that hit Mr. Chekov. I will record it for you, just as the Captain said it, and while you use it to treat Mr. Chekov, I will see if I can find out more information about the weapon itself. The Captain did not say so, but I sensed that there is very little time."

"All right, Spock. Thank you. I may be able to help in other ways, too."

"Undoubtedly, Doctor, and I shall certainly let you know if I require further assistance."

(0O0)

Spock went back to his quarters and sought to meditate. His thoughts were disturbed, so that he was unsuccessful. Who, in known space, was powerful enough to send the Captain inside his own mind, and take over his body in his place? Or was he in both places at once? A few possibilities came to mind—the parent entities to Trelaine, Sargon, possibly the Organians themselves, and the Vulcans. With a sigh that was perceptible only to those who knew him well, he sat down at his computer and began to do some research.

Suddenly, the ship shook with such force that Spock could barely keep his seat. Arching an eyebrow and silently wondering why no one had contacted him, since the ship was obviously under siege, he toggled the switch that would connect him to the bridge.

"Spock to bridge."

"Bridge. Kirk here."

"Captain, is the ship under assault?"

"Mr. Spock, we have visitors. Klingon visitors. Please report to the bridge."

"On my way, sir."

Spock deactivated the channel, pushed some buttons to activate his private comm. link (and ensure he wasn't overheard) and called sickbay.

"Dr. McCoy, please report to the Captain's quarters. I suspect there are some security guards in need of medical attention. When you have completed your treatment of them, please report to the bridge. Either the Captain or I will have need of your services by then."

"The Captain is on the bridge?"

"I believe that is what I just said."

"Spock—?"

"Doctor, I must go. I am due on the bridge." Without giving McCoy a chance to say anything else, he deactivated the channel, put his personal comm. link to rights, and left his cabin. As he walked down the hall, the ship shook again, much more violently than before, and Spock raced down the hall toward the turbolift.

A moment later, Spock stepped smartly out of the lift and onto the bridge. He walked to the science station, and looked into the viewer. He was surreptitiously watching the Captain. Kirk was staring at the large viewscreen directly in front of his chair, watching the Klingon War Bird in front of him.

"Fire."

The weapons officer, Mr. Styles, fired on Kirk's command, and the Klingon ship started spewing white plasma.

"Fire again."

"Captain, their ship is crippled. They can't run and they can't fight. Shouldn't we prepare to board their ship and take it in tow."

"Refusing to obey a direct order is insubordination, at best, and possibly mutiny, Mister. FIRE!"

Styles sat back in his chair and put his hands in his lap. Kirk's angry growl and red face was not lost on anyone on the bridge. Stomping up behind Styles, he yelled, "You're relieved, Mr. Styles. Get off my brid—" and crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Spock stepped back to McCoy, who had just entered the bridge, and said,

"Miss Uhura, please call security and have them escort Dr. McCoy and the Captain down to sickbay." Pitching his voice so that only the Chief Medical Officer could hear him, he said, "Doctor, consider this a direct order. You are to take Captain Kirk down to sickbay, and place him in the highest security sick ward. Use maximum restraint. Heed this warning: Do not make the mistake of underestimating the Captain. No matter who or what is controlling Jim's body while his mind is away, they have access to the Captain's body, and also possibly to parts of his mind, including memory, and that is a tremendous asset to them, if they know how to use it. We must assume they do. Sedate him, if you must. I will be down to see you both after this situation has been handled. The Captain is to have no visitors before I come down. However, you are to make note of anyone who tries to see the Captain, or enter his room."

"Yes, sir." McCoy and Spock placed the Captain on a gurney and strapped him down. Security walked along beside the gurney, phasers drawn. After the doors shut behind them, Spock looked around at the bridge. They were too well trained to disobey his orders, while he was seemingly sane and rational, nor would they display any hostility they might feel. Still, they looked shocked, and they deserved an explanation.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Captain is not…himself, at the moment. You deserve an explanation, and I regret that I am unable to provide you one at the moment. Dr. McCoy is working to find out what is wrong, and I plan to talk to the Captain when this business is finished. Now then, Miss Uhura, please open a channel to the Klingon ship's Captain."

"Open and clear, sir. Stand by for Commander Keth." The face of a fierce Klingon Commander appeared on the screen.

"Do you require assistance, Commander?"

"Not from you, Vulcan. Where's Captain Kirk?"

"The Captain is otherwise engaged at the moment. He is analyzing the results of a scan, performed for a particular weapon, possibly of Klingon design." That remark hit home. "He is also busy determining the terms he will accept for your surrender."

"Klingons don't surrender."

"We cannot allow you to leave with this weapon, not while it is a threat to us. However, should you hand the weapon over to us, we would escort you back to the Neutral Zone. You could repair your ship and be on your way. Otherwise, we will have no choice but to blow you out of space. You have one hour to make your decision." With a hand signal, he told Uhura to cut the connection, and then stood and moved toward the bridge doors.

"Lieutenant, please call Mr. Scott to the bridge. Stand down to Yellow Alert, but keep weapons armed, in the event the Klingons are holding out on us. If I am needed, I will be in sickbay."

(0O0)

Spock walked through the sickbay doors, and over to the maximum security ward. McCoy, who was watching for him, pressed the release to open the doors.

"I'm sorry, Spock. You won't be able to talk to him. I had to sedate him. He was fighting like a wildcat when we unstrapped him. Do you have any ideas why?"

"Suspicions only, at the moment. Before I know for sure, I need to ask you for a favor?"

"A favor from me?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Well, spit it out, Spock."

"I do not spit, Doctor."

"Tell me, Spock. What do you need me to do?"

"I need to ask a few well placed questions to someone highly placed in Starfleet, with knowledge of what might be going on, or who can find out, and someone who will give me the information I seek."

"I don't know that that is possible, Spock."

"We must try, Doctor."

"You are asking me to put out some feelers among my contacts in the medical offices."

"Precisely, Doctor."


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: __ The original content contained in the following belongs to me, but I don't own the characters or the world. This is a short story based on the idea that McCoy, as a doctor, feels a particular responsibility to everyone aboard the Enterprise, but especially to those he considers friends. Not sure where this is going, so any suggestions would be appreciated. Please read and review. I don't write slash._

**And Faustus Must Be Damned**

McCoy sat next to Chekov's bed. His shift had ended an hour ago, and generally, he was content to leave a patient in the capable hands of his staff when he was off duty (though a CMO is rarely really off duty), but he was hoping to hear from some of the inquiries he made, and wanted to take the calls in his office, where he was assured a reasonable amount of soundproofed privacy. So, he was hanging around sickbay anyway, and this case felt different to him. He almost felt as though his personal care of Chekov was an attempt to help his Captain in whatever mission he was risking his neck in, and he could do no less than that.

The information the Captain had given Spock about Chekov had aided his treatment, and he had shown some signs of improvement. Whether he would wake up anytime soon was anybody's guess. That damned weapon wreaked havoc on his insides, and he would have to take regular injections for weeks, and perhaps months, to regulate some systems, until he healed enough that they could regulate themselves again.

"Doctor McCoy?"

He jumped, cursing mildly, and looked up to find Nurse Chapel standing in the doorway.

"There's a hail for you, from the Starfleet Surgeon General's Office. Lieutenant Uhura said she is sending it to the comm. in your office."

"Thank you, Nurse." Rising stiffly, he made his way to his office, sat down behind his desk, and opened the channel. He smiled broadly at the Andorian woman on the screen before him. She was a brilliant doctor, and currently the Director of Medical Services for the Starfleet Surgeon General's Office, which meant she ran all of the hospitals in Starfleet, whether they were planet based or floating. She also happened to be a dear friend of Dr. McCoy.

"Dee. How in the world are you?"

"No time for a social call, Mac. It has come to my attention that you've been asking some questions about a certain Captain, on a certain mission, no doubt at the behest of a certain first officer."

"And you called back in person to tell me?"

"To drop it, Mac. The Captain in question is a big boy, and he can take care of himself. Some of the Federation's finest are on this one, and he won't thank you to mess it up for everyone. He knows what he is doing. If I can offer a piece of professional advice, as your friend and a ranking medical officer, these questions aren't worth the heat the Captain and the ship will take because of them, nor are they worth your career. Leave it alone, Mac. Find your answers, if you must, but do it another way, and somewhere else."

"Thanks, Dee."

"Anytime, Mac. Take care of yourself. Come see me the next time you are on Earth. I owe you a drink."

"I'll take you up on that."

"See that you do."

McCoy smiled broadly as he closed the connection. Somehow, Dee had a way of delivering even bad news in a pleasant and caring manner, and if she said to stay out of it, he knew her well enough to heed that advice. She considered it a professional duty to know everything about anything involving the Federation, and most especially in Starfleet, and she placed people before politics, which made her one of the most dangerous people he had ever met and also one of the finest doctors.

(0O0)

McCoy was preparing to examine Chekov when Spock found him. Reading the question in the Vulcan's eyes, McCoy shook his head.

Raising an eyebrow, Spock said, "Indeed? That is unfortunate, Doctor. "

"So, what do we do now?"

"We must look elsewhere for our answers. Will it hinder Mr. Chekov's treatment if you induce consciousness?"

"I don't think so, Spock. It will be painful for him, though."

"Necessary, Doctor. Please wake him."

Shaking his head and muttering under his breath, McCoy held the hypospray to the young man's shoulder, and slowly, he opened his eyes.

"Mr. Chekov, this is Commander Spock. I regret that this is a painful return to awareness for you, but I must ask you some questions."

The young navigator winced at the seemingly bright lights and loud voice for a moment, then with effort, straightened up and opened his eyes.

"Ask your questions, Mr. Spock," he rasped, as though not used to using his voice.

"I must know what happened on the planet's surface both just before and just after you were injured."

"Talking to natives. Thought we were making progress on getting the dilithium agreement signed. Ambushed by Klingons. New weapon. More powerful. I was hit. Captain knelt by me. Wulcan Ambassador talking to him. Captain called ship, had Dr. McCoy beamed down. All…all I remember." His eyes closed and he faded off to sleep again. Dr. McCoy watched Spock carefully.

"Indeed. Interesting."

"Spock, when I got down there, the Captain was kneeling by Chekov, just like the boy said, but Sarek was nowhere to be seen. You can't rely too much on what he says, in the state he is in. Hard to tell how much is reality and how much is a dream at a time like that."

"Understood, Doctor."

(0O0)

Kirk had settled back in a favorite chair in his cabin on the great sailing ship, and was reading an antique volume, one of a collection he kept aboard.

"Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight,

And burned is Apollo's laurel bough,

That sometime grew within this learned man.

Faustus is gone. Regard his hellish fall,

Whose fiendful fortune may exhort the wise

Only to wonder at unlawful things,

Whose deepness doth entice such forward wits,

To practise more than heavenly power permits."

He heard a deep rumble that sounded more sky than sea, and he rose and moved to the window, where he looked out and found gray storm clouds rolling in thick and heavy. Realizing he was alone aboard a ship that required a full crew for running, he battened down the hatches and dropped anchor, planning to ride out the storm.

(0O0)

Spock knew he was too far away from his home planet to actually expect to communicate live with his father, but he could send a message. He had not spoken to his father in the last eighteen years until a few months ago, when he was reunited with his father when the Enterprise escorted a company of diplomats to Babel, the Vulcan contingent among them. Mostly because of his mother, Amanda, Spock had begun to think during that journey that he might one day have a relationship with his father again.

Uncertain of what he was expecting to find, and equally unsure of what he wanted to say, he finally left a simple message for his father, "Father, please contact me as soon as you receive this message. It is imperative that I speak with you."

(0O0)

Chekov opened his eyes and found himself staring at a strange ceiling, wondering what was beeping, and trying to determine where he was. He tried to sit up, and sank back down with an overwhelming pain in his side. He heard a familiar gravelly voice say, "Don't try to sit up. Lie still and rest. When you came here, your insides were jelly, and right now, they are only a little better than that. I had to put you back together once. I'd prefer not to have to do so again." McCoy loaded a hypospray and said, "This will not make you sleep, but it should help the pain."

"Dr. McCoy, am I going to die?"

"Leave those thoughts outside where they belong, young man. You are not going to die if I have anything to say about it. Besides the fact that the Captain would never forgive me, you are the only one I trust to drive this thing." Chekov tried to laugh, but it hurt too much, so he did the only sensible thing instead, and passed out.

(0O0)

Spock was attempting to meditate when the message came in. His screen beeped, and he opened the message. His mother's face appeared on the screen. With a barely perceptible sigh of apprehension, he toggled the switch that would play back the message.

"Son, it was good to hear from you, even if it was a short message to your father. He's off world currently, on diplomatic business for the Federation, but I usually receive his messages while he is away, so that I can inform him of anything urgent or pressing. I regret to tell you that I do not know where he has gone. He said the business was classified under Federation seal. Nor do I know when he will return. If you will tell me what has happened, and what you wish to ask him, I will see what I can find out for you." He switched off the screen, and exhaled slowly.

Dead end again. Fascinating. Something inside of him, perhaps the human part of him, or perhaps the Vulcan part that was capable of respecting Human intuition, told him that he was on the right track. Proving it would be the hard part.

(0O0)

Kirk stood at the ship's helm in full rain gear, watching with fascination as the storm raged against the ship. Looking out across the water, he saw lightning dancing amid the waves, which were growing larger with the storm swell. Already the boat rocked dangerously from side to side. Kirk wasn't too worried, and looking back later, he wondered if that made him a fool, but he had an inherent faith in The Keeler's ability to ride out the storm. He had to be on deck, to be sure that she did not drift too far off course, as much as he wanted to be below, snuggling under a blanket to ward off the chill while he finished his book. He had thought, been told, that he would know when it was time to go back. So far, nothing had happened to make him feel that the time had come, but he couldn't stop thinking about the ship, and Chekov, and the Klingons. He also knew that entropy was increased slightly here…and that that gap would widen, the longer he was away from where he belonged.

The sky started to break up, and little pieces of it fell down into the water and onto the ship. The ship suddenly looked as though it had a white streak through it, and the ship, the sea and the sky all seemed to fade in and out, growing stronger one minute and weaker the next. At the same time that all of this was going on, Kirk was struck with an overwhelming weakness so intense that he could not move or walk, nor could he stay on his feet. Kirk was too much of a command presence to show any sort of fear, but his mind shrieked a single word. "Spock." He fell to his knees on the deck, and sat there gasping for air, and wondering when the end would come. As he glanced up at the sky in curiosity, he saw hundreds of stars around an almost unbearably white light, and for a second, he glimpsed his lady, his one true love, gliding through the sky before him. Then the light grew blinding, and he was forced to close his eyes against the light and the stars.

(0O0)

Spock fell out of his chair, to his knees on the floor, his hands over his ears, experiencing an overwhelmingly intense pain. He clamped down on the pain with an iron clad Vulcan control, and with effort, he rose and made his way to sickbay. McCoy was off duty, but Christine Chapel saw Spock's stiff posture, and the Vulcan mask he wore, and she immediately called Dr. McCoy back to sickbay.

When McCoy arrived, Spock was trying to get into the room where the Captain lay sedated. Walking up behind the Vulcan, McCoy said, "The Captain won't wake up for quite awhile. There's no reason for you to go in there."

"On the contrary, Doctor, I must get in there. The Captain's life may depend upon it."

"How could you know that, Spock? Jim's been asleep in there all this time. You couldn't have spoken to him."

"I assure you, Doctor, that the Captain need not be awake for me to speak to him, nor am I required to explain my command decisions to you. Now let me in."

Grumbling under his breath, McCoy spoke into the voice activated lock, and the door slid open. McCoy followed Spock inside, and said, "I opened the door for you, but I am not taking off the restraints until I know it is safe to do so. You did not see the way he was fighting when we brought him in here.

"Fair enough, Doctor."

Spock stood by the Captain's bedside, hands finding the proper points on the Captain's face. McCoy gasped. "Spock, I am shocked. I thought you didn't meld with people against their will." Ignoring him, Spock continued preparing to form the meld.

"Why, Spock? Why are you doing this to him? Why are you risking your friendship to meld with the Captain, when he's not able to give you his consent?" McCoy demanded.

When Spock finally spoke, his voice and his eyes were dangerous. "Doctor, I know Jim's mind, perhaps better than anyone else in the universe, save the Captain himself. He would consent to this, if he could. And it is necessary. Please discontinue your interference."

McCoy fell silent, but his face still evidenced his disapproval. Spock went rigid as he entered the meld. He stayed that way for an eternity, and sighing, McCoy settled in to wait. Again.

(0O0)

Spock suddenly found himself on a sailing ship in the middle of a storm, and the change in temperature took him a bit off balance. He shut off the discomfort for the moment, and moved out above decks, calling softly. "Captain. Jim, where are you?" Then, he saw him lying on the deck, weak and unable to move. Moving over next to his Captain, Spock effortlessly picked him up, and started walking back in the direction he came. As he walked away from the stars, the atmosphere grew darker and darker until neither could see anything at all. Spock kept walking.

Moments later, Kirk opened his eyes, and Spock stepped back, somewhat weakly. Kirk tried to sit up, and found himself bound. He also found himself completely devoid of energy.

"Doctor, I believe the Captain could benefit from a stimulant."

"I'm coming, Spock," he said, dialing the hypospray to the correct dosage. As he stepped up beside Spock, he injected the First Officer with a stimulant. Spock raised an eyebrow, and McCoy answered it as though it were a spoken challenge.

"Readings indicate you could both use a stimulant. I have an idea what you've been up to, and it wore on you. He can't leave, so you were first. Don't argue, Spock. Let me do my job with no objections, for once."

"I am not arguing, Doctor. I merely wished to point out that the Captain has very little time to accomplish this mission."

"I hear you, Spock." He injected the Captain with another stimulant, and then stopped halfway to releasing the restraints. He looked at Kirk. "If you will give me your word that you will come back in here when this business is finished, and allow me to examine you, I will let you leave now."

"My word, Doctor."

McCoy released the restraints, and Kirk was off, albeit somewhat unsteadily, to the bridge.

(0O0)

When the turbolift doors opened, and Kirk walked out, followed by Spock, the bridge crew collectively held its breath. Scotty rose cautiously from the center seat, and moved up to meet them.

"Mr. Scott."

"Captain." Drawing Scotty aside, along with Spock, he said, "Engineer, I need to know if you can modify the ship's shields to withstand the specifications on this data tape? I also need to know how long it would take you to do it." Placing the tape in the slot on the bridge Engineering station, he read silently for a long moment, then sighed and said, "Aye. 'Tis possible, Captain. Would ye want it to reflect the beams back, or simply to dissapate them?"

"Reflect them back. Let's give the Klingons a taste of their own medicine. How long?"

"One hour, Captain."

"Make it fifteen minutes, Scotty."

"Aye, sair."

Moving down to the center seat, flanked by Spock, he said, "Lieutenant Uhura, have our friends been saying anything?"

"They've been talking about whether Mr. Spock would truly blow them out of space, and also wondering whether we would truly escort them back to the Neutral Zone if they hand over the weapon."

"Well, Mr. Spock, I see you've been busy."

"No more than usual, sir."

"How long did you tell them they had to decide?"

"Two hours."

"and how long ago was that?"

"Two hours, five minutes."

"Well, let's see what the Klingons have to say. Lieutenant, open a channel to the Klingon ship."

"Yes, sir." A moment later, she said, "Channel open and clear, sir."  
>"Commander Keth, this is Captain James T. Kirk. We've given you two hours to make your decision. What will it be?"<p>

"Captain, you are in no position to demand our decision. We have spent the past two hours repairing our weapon. It is we who should be demanding your surrender."

"You would have been smarter to repair your ship. Now, what is your decision?"

Keth treated Kirk to what amounted to a Klingon smile, as dangerous and foreign as that sight might be. "The Klingons are not as generous as the Federation, Kirk. You have three minutes to surrender or we will blow you into your component parts."

Kirk made a cutting motion behind him with his hand, and Uhura closed the channel. He hit the switch on his comm. link that connected the bridge to Engineering, and asked, "Mr. Scott, how's it coming?"

"If all goes right, she'll be done in six minutes. I canna have it for ye any faster, Cap'n." Without a word, Spock rose and left the bridge.

"You have three minutes, Scotty. Any longer and it won't matter."

"Aye, sair. We'll be ready."

Kirk hated waiting, and every second of the following two minutes and fifty five seconds seemed to take an eternity to click down. He was just about to thumb his comm. link again, when it's chime sounded. Toggling the switch, he breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the voice on the other end.

"Engineering to bridge. Spock here. We're ready, Captain."

"Well done, gentlemen. Kirk out."

Kirk wasn't sure what he expected when the weapon hit, but what he expected was far from what happened. The entire bridge crew watched as an orange beam left the Klingon ship and made its way slowly, slowly toward the Enterprise. Kirk tried to say, "evasive maneuvers" and Sulu tried to comply, but neither were entirely successful. It was as though time stopped, or slowed down considerably, and then, the stuff of each person's nightmares tore through the ship like the blast of a cannon, a collage of images, swirling about overhead, bombarding them, leaving each person's most deeply seated insecurities, most private fears, exposed to the crew at large. The images coalesced into squares, and enlarged one at a time, painting that fear in sharp focus.

_Sulu sat stiffly in a straight backed chair at Starfleet Headquarters, waiting for his fate to be declared. He was at risk of being drummed out of the service, and he envisioned the ship, which he had his heart set on Captaining, disappear before his eyes. _

_ Uhura sat at her console on the bridge, processing incoming and outgoing hails. Her fingers flew over the console, faster and faster until the console became an extension of herself. She was drawn in, and faded slowly into the inner workings of the board, until there was nothing left. A moment before she disappeared, she saw her reflection in the glass above her board, and an old woman looked back at her, while a small number of men stood behind her, fading out of sight as she faded into the board. _

_ Scotty lay on his back underneath the transporter console, working with a wrench to tighten something or other, working to fix a malfunction. As he stood up, he saw that the temperature was rising in the matter/antimatter intermix chamber. Before he could stop it, the temperature built to an explosion, and then suddenly he saw it on the main viewscreen, swirling green and purple and blue, and chanting about death and destruction in a cruel, horrible voice. _

The boxes suddenly began to grow smaller, retreating back toward the Klingon ship, until it was simply an orange ball again. It was then that time started again, and they realized how much the ship was shaking and how it had veered off course. In fact, the Enterprise was plummeting at breakneck speed toward the planet's surface below.

"Pull out, Mr. Sulu."

"Aye sir." Sulu was gripping the helm controls so hard his knuckles were white. He was shaking with the effort of leveling the great ship. For the longest time, the ship seemed to continue in its free fall, and then slowly it began to level out. When the ship had finally leveled, and begun to climb to cruising altitude again, and Sulu was able to shift again to autopilot, the crew breathed a collective sigh of relief.

(0O0)

The department heads were gathered in the main briefing room, and McCoy was prowling the perimeter of the room, tricorder whirring. Finally Kirk allowed a fraction of his annoyance to creep into his voice, and said, "Sit down, Bones."

"Jim, that stimulant I gave you is close to wearing off, and when it does, you'll be lucky to walk out of here. Besides that, that weapon hit hard. Even though it was deflected, most of the crew could probably use a stimulant, too."

"I'll deal with that when the time comes. Sit down." Knowing not to argue when the Captain's voice reached a certain tone, McCoy sat down in his usual spot. Kirk turned to Spock.

"Mr. Spock, do you care to explain what happened to us?"

"The Klingon weapon seemed to have an unusual side effect. It exposed our deepest fears, each person's personal nightmare. With that said, I would suggest counseling for those in the crew who might show signs of needing it."

"Noted, Mr. Spock." McCoy said, adjusting a knob on his tricorder.

"Captain, a question?"

"Yes, Spock."

"Are you able to explain your mission, sir, and whether it was successful?"

"I just received word that the classified seals have been changed to need to know, and I think a crew that has performed so well on a secret, classified mission, for which they knew nothing, has a need to know. However, I think there's someone else here who can explain the mission better than I can." He made a signal with his hand, and the briefing room doors swished open, and a tall, austere, older Vulcan strode into the room.

"Ambassador, would you care to explain the mission we just completed to my senior staff?"

"As you wish, Captain Kirk. The Federation suspected that the Klingons had partnered with a group of insurgents on the planet below to create the weapon we all experienced one point two hours ago. After your assistant security chief was injured, I approached Captain Kirk with a proposition, a way to catch the Klingons and prevent the weapon from being deployed. We weren't entirely successful in that cause, however, we did gather sufficient information about the weapon to prevent it being used on Federation worlds. At any rate, I surmise the weapon will no longer be a threat to us, thanks to the fine work of this ship and crew. Evidence suggests that the weapon, though not a danger to our ships, is a definite danger to Klingon ships, since the weapon uses the same technology and interrupts the same frequencies used by the Klingon ships. In that respect, our mission was highly successful. I think you will find that the Klingons will have need of an escort back to the Neutral Zone, Captain. If you will excuse me, I am due on the planet in four point seven minutes."

"Thank you, Ambassador."

(0O0)

Captain Kirk was once again in the center seat, looking at the main viewscreen in front of him. His thoughts drifted back to the mission, and to his other ship, The Edith Keeler, and a book that he was reading in his cabin there. Somehow, the story he read fit the mission he had just completed, but he needed to think it through a bit more to know how.

"The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike—"

"What was that, Captain?"

"Oh, just something I read during this mission."

"Marlowe?"

"You know it, Spock?"

"The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike, the Devil will come, and Faustus must be damned."

"You _do_ know it, Spock."

"Are you surprised, Doctor? My mother, aside from being Terran, is a linguist and an English teacher. It is natural for her to teach me some of her people's literature, also."

"Well, I'll be damned," Bones said, to no one in particular, as he injected the Captain with another stimulant, and the Enterprise glided silently through the fathomless depths of space, on to her next mission.


End file.
